


Half-life

by Typey



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typey/pseuds/Typey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claudia comes across Myka sleeping on the patio in the middle of the night. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-life

Claudia opened the glass door and padded out onto the patio. Barefoot and in her pajamas, she didn’t expect to encounter anyone else in the dark; but the wicker bench where she’d left her guitar was occupied by Myka. The sleeping agent, still in the clothes she’d worn all day, had no blanket and no pillow, and one hand clutched a well-worn copy of _The Invisible Man_.

If it had been Pete or Steve who’d dropped off without heading up to bed, Claudia would have taken the opportunity to jolt him awake with a loud strum or a pouncing hug. But Myka hadn’t just “dropped off” and there was no impulse in the world that would lead Claudia to pull her out of sleep. Not today, and not until H.G. was back.

Myka hadn’t slept well in months, and the whole team knew, even if she wouldn’t admit it, that being awake was some kind of proof or penance or devotion to the missing Englishwoman. Pete made sure there was tea whenever Myka looked too ragged and had held off on most of his antics when she was around. Jinksy had taken it upon himself to give Myka half-hugs and clasps of her perpetually hunched shoulders — he was the only one of them she’d let engage in even the briefest physical comfort.

Claudia had reminded herself every day that Myka didn’t need her to pick up the older woman’s slack — and work-wise there was none, as Myka stoically plowed ahead with her responsibilities — and certainly didn’t need her to attempt to fill any of the gaps left by H.G.’s absence. What Myka needed was for Claudia to be herself.

So she gently lifted the guitar from its position propped up against the side of the B&B, careful of its strings and its sound box and headed back inside. She set it down on the couch and traded it for the throw blanket Myka always complained was _just_ too short to cover her legs. Out on the patio, though, the long, lean body was so drawn-in, so diminished, that Claudia was able to drape it from shoulders to toes and nearly down to the ground. She gingerly pried the book from Myka’s left hand and placed it reverently on the window sill behind the bench.

Myka shifted in her sleep at the slight disturbance and mumbled a desperate, “Helena?”

“No, Mykes. Not yet. Go back to sleep and we’ll get you in the morning.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know, Myka.” Tears that would do no one any good threatened to slip down the young woman’s cheeks. Myka had drifted back into whatever dreams — nightmares? — occupied the subconscious mind she battled to repress during the day, but Claudia stood there silent for long minutes wondering the one thing they all did.

If H.G. never returned, it would deny Artie the one person who might be able to lead him through the pain of the artifact-controlled murder of Leena. It would deny Pete the chance to truly make amends to someone who had proved herself so much more than he’d given her credit for. It would deny Steve to the chance to know more than just the truthfulness or deceit of one of history’s greatest minds. It would deny Claudia the support, affection and love of someone who seemed to need her just as desperately as she was needed.

Each of them would lose their own version of H.G. But what would happen to Myka? Myka would lose her heart — and so they would all lose Myka, too. Her creativity and warmth, her commitment to the Warehouse and her dedication to each of them, her drive and her compassion.

If H.G. never came back from God knows where, Myka would never come back from this half-life filled with what-might-have-beens and regret.


End file.
